Leaving
by Rab-idRaeann
Summary: S7 (spoilers to First Date) Spike decides to leave...short and semi-sweet


LEAVING

**Author:** Rabid/Raeann

**Couple:** B/S

**Rating:** PG-13

**Spoilers:** To "First Date"

**Beta Babes:** Mary, Caia and Gwen

**Summary: **This was just a little derivative scene inspired by the reaction of Wood and Giles and what Buffy said to Willow and Spike said to Buffy. And I am stealing from Into The Woods…'cause…I want to. 

**Disclaimer: **Joss and Mutant Enemy own all…I own nothing…and my PC needs upgrading. It is a harsh world.

The wind whipped ropes of hair into Buffy's face.

Cold, driving rain blurred her vision.

Her boots were pounding the pavement in a frenetic rhythm. 

She ran, faster and faster, pushing to exceed even maximum Slayer velocity. 

She cut across yards, leaped over hedgerows and sped down back alleys. She raced up the center of lightly traveled streets.

Her breathing became ragged and invisible knives stabbed into her sides. She could feel the pulse thudding in her temples and hear the rush of blood like storm-swelled breakers. She clicked out another notch of speed, reaching into the paranormal.

He was leaving. 

She had to catch him, had to stop him. Somehow.

A deep sense of déjà vu had her in tight thrall. She tried not to notice the similarities but it was eerie how closely this race echoed a previous one. Only the rain set this night apart…the rain and the hole where her heart should be. This time, instead of guilt and determination, there was a desperate panic. Buffy pushed it to the back of her mind. This time she would make it. This time was different. 

Xander's voice came to her, as clearly as if he was running beside her. "_If what he needs from you just isn't there? Let him go! But if it is, if he could be the one—RUN!"_

Xander had been talking about Riley, more than two years ago. 

And Buffy had listened. She had run. But nowhere near as fast as she was running now. Because this time, she wasn't chasing some glimmer of possibility. This really was her 'once in a lifetime.'

She turned off Cherrywood and hit the main drag, dodging the few umbrella-wielding pedestrians on the sidewalk. A half-mile ahead she could see the bright neon of the bus station sign. There was a bus. She was on time. But, even as her heart lifted, the vehicle growled its way out of the lot. 

"NO!" The scream bloodied her throat.

For a second, she had hope, as a light ahead of the departing bus blinked from green to yellow. But the driver blared through the intersection without slowing. Her heart's home accelerated away. Grimly, she chased the vehicle for six blocks beyond the station, pressing the limits of her mortality by pitting her supernatural endurance against the tireless machine. She ran until, far ahead, the bus' red taillights made the turn onto the highway. 

Too late!

Leaving…left…gone…

Memory took her again. Clem was breaking the news. 

_"Did he say when he was coming back?"_

_"…he could be gone awhile." _

Awhile? 

A lifetime. 

Four long empty months of checking and checkers, hot wings and pirated cable TV. It was cold punishment for her sins. Not knowing if he was gone forever…lost to her. Stumbling upon him in the school basement, her heart lifting and falling through her stomach again. His raving almost more than she could bear.

Back in the present, she jerked and shuddered to a stop, folding up like a rag doll as soon as she halted. Air burned in her straining lungs. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes. The merciless rain beat down on her as she sat cross-legged in the middle of the sidewalk. She considered staying there forever. Motionless in rain or sunshine, she would be a monument to Lovers Screwed by Fate. 

If only she'd been a little faster…

If only she'd driven…

If only she'd learned to drive in the rain…

If only she'd found his letter ten minutes earlier…

She opened her fisted right hand and looked at the sopping mess of ink and paper. 

"Luv…so sorry…can't stay…all for the best…not a man…what you deserve…never me…just my delusion…wish you every happiness."

Every happiness?

It was a joke. A morbid joke at her expense.

She knew why he was leaving. It had nothing to do with happiness. It was an accumulation of circumstance; Giles' parental concern, Wood's tempting possibilities, Andrew's grim warnings of coming danger, her own hesitation and finally the past coming back to haunt them both. But even with all of that impetus, he hadn't been able to face her. She knew in her heart, he would never be able to turn away from her and leave…like Riley had…like Angel. 

Buffy set her jaw in a firm line and climbed, unsteadily, to her feet. 

"Buses go somewhere," she muttered, turning her steps toward the station.

An electronic bell chinged as Buffy entered the terminal. The ticket clerk looked up from his graphic novel. He was a red-haired young man, 19 maybe, his face still pocked with zits. Watching her approach, he peered warily out from behind thick Plexiglas and equally thick spectacles. Night attendants on the Hellmouth learned caution. Buffy tried to smile reassuringly. It came across as a grimace.

"You trying to catch the bus?" the clerk said, his eyes sliding to the left as he stared along Buffy's earlier route. "By running?"

"Yeah," the Slayer said, waving aside the hubris.

"You're fast," the boy acknowledged.

"Where did it go?"

"That bus?" the clerk asked, rhetorically. He pointed behind him at the schedules board. "Tucson."

"Where does it stop?"

"It doesn't. Not until it reaches L.A. Then, in several small towns on the way to Arizona."

"It's a straight shot? Even if you want off?" 

"On the highway, yeah…no stopping."

She was already planning her evening. Twenty minutes to run home. Gas up the car and hit the highway. If she broke every speed limit, could she catch him at the station in Los Angeles?

"There's another bus tomorrow, if you need a ticket."

"I don't," Buffy growled. She started to leave and then hesitated, turning back to ask, "There was a man, light build but tight, good -looking, bleached-blond, dark green jacket? Was he on that bus?"

"Yeah, he bought a ticket."

"To Tucson?"

"That's confidential." Buffy narrowed her eyes and he capitulated. "But…no…just to Los Angeles. He asked about transfers and I told him he would be able to go anywhere from the central station there."

"Anywhere?" she said in a small voice. The word hit her in the gut. Her adrenaline rush drained away. Suddenly she was only a woman, alone…wet and cold. The rainwater dripping off the end of her nose was indistinguishable from her tears.

She stumbled to a chair and collapsed, cradling her head in her hands as she wept. The clerk squirmed uncomfortably and then shrugged off his sympathy. He re-buried his nose in his comic book. The terminal door chimed again but neither Buffy nor the clerk looked up. The Slayer didn't uncurl from her huddle. Not even when she saw the booted feet in front of her. She blinked. Her brain clicked into gear and registered the image as one she knew. She catalogued it, naming the parts.

Boots.

Lace-up.

Steel-toed.

Size 10…black.

The left one was dinged. Her memory supplied the reason. He had kicked in the teeth of a Xtorsax demon when it went for her throat.

Spike. 

Her heart sang the name. She let her gaze float up. Wet jeans, belt, jacket, and camel-colored shirt…ivory throat…storm blue eyes. She stared into those eyes, letting the raw emotion on her face speak, not caring that her nose was red and stuffy and her makeup smeared.

He stood awkwardly. Shoulders hunched, slightly, and both hands shoved into his front pockets. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he let his eyes drift away from hers. 

"I missed the bus," he mumbled.

"Oh," Buffy whispered. She tried very hard to think of something else to say.

Spike was looking past her, now, staring out the window into the driving rain. He took one hand out of a pocket and pointed to a spot on the far side of the street. 

"I stood over there…under the awning." 

She turned in the plastic chair to look where he was pointing. "And," he continued. "I watched the bus arrive and load and leave."

She tried to make sense of what he was saying. She couldn't.

After waiting a beat for her to speak, he said. "I saw you…run by, come back." 

"You saw?"

"I didn't want you to know." He cocked his head to one side. "I was hiding."

"You were hiding?" Buffy parroted. Her tone was pained rather than accusing. 

She sniffed and rubbed impatiently at her nose. Placing his soggy letter down in the chair next to her, she rummaged in her coat pocket, finally fishing out an equally sodden tissue.

"It's a bar," he explained. "With the awning. I went in to wait for you to leave. I ordered a bourbon."

"Why?" 

"I like bourbon."

"Why hiding?" She clarified, with a touch of her usual fire. "You missed the bus? And hid so I wouldn't know?"

He nodded once. "So you wouldn't stop me."

"Stop you from leaving?" she choked on the words. "You're going?"

"I missed the bus."

"You were standing there," she stabbed one finger toward the bar, "when it left. How could you miss it?"

"You were running."

Confusion danced across her face. When the bus pulled out, she was just making the turn, a half mile away in the pouring rain. Spike couldn't have seen her before he decided to—What? What did he decide? To hide? To stay? "How did you…" she broke off and regrouped. "You could hear me?"

"No, not over the rain."

"Then—?"

He tilted his head, again, as if considering. But he answered her with another question. "Were you trying to stop me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Her eyelids squeezed shut and she took in a deep breath. Then, she picked up the balled mess of his letter and held it out. "This isn't good enough."

"I'm sorry," he mouthed.

Anger flared in her. She wanted to rage at the world and at this dripping schoolboy in front of her.

"So you said," she snapped, surging to her feet. She tossed the wad of water-logged paper down between them. "Everyone is sorry. Sorry about the sacrifices I have to make just to live through another year. Sorry for me and my hopeless attraction to the undead."

"I'm a bad man."

"You're not."

"Evil or just weak, it doesn't matter. I killed his mother, Buffy. I left him alone in the world."

"A Slayer," Buffy corrected. "You killed a Slayer and she would have killed you."

"She was only protecting people. I broke her neck for the joy of it. For the thrill of the killing."

"And you're sorry, now. You've changed."

"How does that buy back her life?"

"It doesn't!" Buffy shouted, throwing both hands up. "Is that what this is about? Paying for your sins? News Flash, Spike! You can't buy back her life. Not with suffering, not with pain and not by leaving. It's done. It's over. Nothing you do now will make it any better."

"You can do better than me."

"Everyone says that."

"So, listen." 

"I can't. I can't accept that hate and evil will always win. That all we can do is suffer and die for our sins. I believe we can become better, stronger, more loving people. It's hard, it hurts. But we can leave the past in the past."

"I am leaving the past…"

"No, no you're not! You're letting it hound you out of town. But you're taking it along for the trip. You're holding on to your guilt and shame. You're holding on to the killer, making him the most important part of you."

"Maybe I really am a killer."

"Maybe you are," Buffy conceded and he winced. "But will you always be? I don't believe it. I know you."

Spike opened his mouth to protest. She spoke quickly to forestall him. "You! Not some fantasy of perfection. Believe me I know how far you are from perfect. Everyone says my mind is muddled with childish impulses. My 'feelings color my judgment.' But I see you."

"You see what you want to see," he corrected. "You see the best in me."

"What's wrong with that?" 

"It's not real."

"Oh, right. It's your delusion…not mine. Well then, I guess I'll move on. Everyone wants to help me move on, right? Help me start over? How's it go again? There's somebody out there for me. Somebody special. Somebody flawless and normal and good. Someone ELSE…Someone NOT SPIKE. All I have to do is live through another eternity of pain and emptiness, waiting. They wish me every happiness."

"Buffy, you have to believe…"

"In what? This big evil coming…or the next one? Nothing is going to change, right? I've been the Slayer for 8 years. Tell me Spike…you've studied Slayers…How many years too long is that?"

He didn't answer and she pressed. "Tell me?"

"Three," he whispered, looking at the floor.

"Three, is right," she stated. "Three years longer than any other Slayer. Only Faith is still in the running and only because she's been in prison. I was never meant to last this long…just like you said. It's something else we have in common."

"You're not going to die."

"Of course, I am," she sighed. "It's not even an option. There's no get out of death-free card…or if there is…I already played it."

"Buffy?"

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "So, maybe by leaving you'll buy me a little more time. A few months? Another year? Two? Three? How long is long enough? How long do you want me to go on alone?"

"You won't be alone!"

"Right…somebody will come along. Someone I can trust?"

"Yes!"

"Rely on to protect the people I care about most…my mother, my sister, my friends?"

He shifted uneasily, eyes still on the floor, but nodded. "It's what you deserve."

"Someone strong and committed and passionate? Willing to let me die and rest in peace? Willing to die for me, to be tortured or driven mad? Someone who understands me, and my past with Angel and with you…sees my flaws and my inner darkness and loves me anyway? Someone I can respect?"

Spike's gaze jerked up to meet hers.

"I can see it, now," Buffy said, sarcastically. "We'll fight and make up and grow stronger together. We'll count on each other in crisis. Burn with passion. Learn about life and ourselves and build something real. Something that lasts through all our individual changes. " Buffy softened her tone and took a half-step forward. "I'll resist, at first, cling to the past, but eventually I'll open my heart and be willing to risk everything, because I will know. It's right. It's love…"

The truth was more than Spike could bear. He bit down on his lower lip as tears spilled over his lashes.

Buffy moved very close, favoring him with the tenderest of smiles. "I'll say it out loud…I love you!"

He raised one hand to cradle the side of her face. "I love you," he whispered, back.

"And then, finally, all those people…all their wishes will come true. I'll be happy."

She stood on tiptoe and their lips met. They melted into each other. Her fingers swirled his wet hair. His hands sought her rain-slick skin at neck and waist. The fire in her blood warmed them both. It was a sweet, slow kiss, accepting, not demanding. It was a laying down of arms after many months of conflict, a surrender of long defended positions. 

Some time later, still wrapped around her, Spike murmured in Buffy's ear, "If the First takes me…?"

"You will fight it off."

"And if I can't?"

"You will!"

"You don't know that," Spike protested, pulling back to meet her eye but still embracing. "You can't know."

"I know…like you knew I was running."

"I didn't," he confessed, with a tiny snort. "I was just weak. My legs refused to work. Couldn't walk to the bus and board. I just stood there. Knowing, in my gut, I wasn't strong enough to leave you."

"Maybe not leaving is the harder choice."

"Maybe," he sighed, as if not really believing it. 

She stepped out of his arms but reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "So? Brave or not…are you leaving? Or coming home?"

"Home," he said, savoring the sweetness of the word.

Buffy smiled up at him, her face alight with bliss. Spike sighed and leaned in for another kiss. Her mouth seized on his, hungry, devouring as if too long denied. The staring night attendant coughed, pointedly. Ignoring the boy, Buffy bit and licked her way across her lover's cheek to his ear and whispered a lascivious suggestion. Spike tensed, shifting back to gape at her in mock horror. 

A petulant, if slightly insincere, pout marred his features. "The house is full of Xanders and Andrews and nosy teenage girls," he reminded.

"True," she nodded, sagely. "So, really…we should get a motel room."

"What? Now? You're soaked through…."

"Mmmm…all the better."

"…and missing for an hour already. With the First on the rise, people will worry."

"A room with a phone, then," she grinned, tugging impatiently on his hand. 

Spike let her lead the way toward the exit. They paused on the threshold, just in the lee of the double doors, with the Spartan brightness of the terminal behind them and the rain-lashed night wind blowing in their faces.

"We're going to die, you know," Spike teasingly admonished, sounding very much like Giles. "Probably any second, now. Something will spring out of nowhere and ZAK! Horrible, poetic deaths."

Stepping into the teeth of the storm, Buffy acknowledged his point. "I know. We need to hurry if we're going to die happy."

THE END


End file.
